


Homecoming

by clashgirl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 15:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clashgirl/pseuds/clashgirl
Summary: A stupid, bullheaded boy returns to Winterfell.In which Arya is a badass, Jon has a personality, Sansa is Lady of Winterfell, Bran is still annoying, and Gendry is as confused as ever.Arya/Gendry centric.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> AU from the end of season 7. 
> 
> Arya is aged up for me (17/18?) but make everyone whatever age you like, its fanfiction. 
> 
> Arya might be out of character, but I don't really know how she's going to act when she's not pretending that she's going to kill Sansa (don't get me started on how much that storyline pissed me off.)

Chapter 1  
Arya 

 

Winter was here. Arya gazed down at Winterfell. Snow fell softly all around her, sticking to her hair and covering the castle. It was beautiful. It had been oddly peaceful since she had executed Littlefinger with the help of Sansa, but that was set to change when Jon arrived, accompanied by Daenerys Targaryen, whom he had bent the knee to. Sansa refused to talk to Arya about the impending arrival of their apparent new queen. The Lords of the North were in an outrage, and Sansa was busy trying to deal with them until Jon arrived and would speak to them himself. Arya was by her side, silent, but watching the Lords carefully for anyone who might cause Sansa harm.  
Arya herself was curious about the last Targaryen, the one who had brought back dragons. She had heard rumors about the dragon queen over the years, rumors about how she had given birth to the dragons, how she had freed slaves all over, about how she was a savior. Arya had been curious about this woman who was coming to take back the seven kingdoms, but hadn’t cared much to listen to the whispers about her. And right now, Targaryens and dragons weren’t what she was most looking forward to, it was Jon. She hadn’t seen him in years, and she could hardly believe she was going to see him so soon. It was surreal. Sansa and Bran, and now Jon, all back at Winterfell. To be fair, Bran was not her brother so much anymore, but it had still been a blessing to have him here, alive. She heard light footsteps behind her, and turned around to see Sansa walking to her.  
“I have received word from Jon. They are close. He says that they should be here by nightfall.” Sansa said grimly. “The Lords are aware of the Targaryen’s dragons, and although they do not like it, they understand that if Jon has bent the knee, it must have been for good reason.” Arya laughed.  
“How did you manage to convince the lords that when you obviously don’t believe it?”  
Sansa did not respond, instead gazing out at the castle.  
“I need to speak to Jon alone once all the formalities are done. But for this time being, she is our Queen, and we must receive her as such.” Sansa said, her tone even. Arya rolled her eyes. Sansa was still Sansa, after all this time.  
“I won’t be wearing a dress if that's what you're implying.” Arya half joked, trying to lighten Sansa’s doom and gloom mood.  
“I doubt I could get you to wear a dress, even if I wanted you to.” Sansa told her. They stood there quietly for a few moments, and then Sansa turned to go.  
“I must prepare for the arrival of our new queen. You don’t need to wear a dress, but maybe consider letting me brush your hair. It looks just as wild as it did when we were children.” With that, Sansa left Arya alone, standing in the snow. 

Arya spent the rest of the morning training with Brienne. They had taken to training together daily, and had formed a mutual respect for one another. Once they were both exhausted, Arya went to her chambers. Her clothes she was wearing were dirty and smelly, and so was she. Once Arya bathed and dressed in fresh clothes, she reluctantly tried to do her hair in a semblance of a braid, but unfortunately, the Faceless Men had never covered that particular skill in her training. After several attempts failed, she decided to leave it as she normally would, and went to find Sansa.  
Sansa was in mother and father's old chambers, and was dressed as a true Lady of the North. Her long hair was done in the style their mother had often wore, and she had a dress that she seemed to wear like armor. She sat idly on her bed, staring at nothing.  
“You look nice.” Arya offered, standing awkwardly in the room. Sansa just nodded.  
“I know.”  
Arya stood behind Sansa, while they waited for the arrival of Jon and Daenerys. Everyone was in their place to greet the Queen and the Lord of the North. Sansa stood still as ice, but Arya was restless. She wished they would just hurry up and arrive. Just then, a loud screech drew everyone’s attention to the sky. Two huge dragons were in the sky, circling. People gasped and shouted, Sansa’s usually calm expression was now a mix of fear and something else Arya couldn’t quite place. But Arya stared in wonder at the beasts in the sky she thought she would never see. They were beautiful-terrifying but beautiful. The dragons flew above Winterfell, never coming too close, but she could feel the fear radiating off everyone around her. Arya tore her gaze away from the sky to watch the arrival that was about to happen.  
Hoofsteps sounded close by, and everyone saw the procession approaching them. Arya could make out Jon, and a woman with shockingly white hair who rode beside him who must be Daenerys. Arya could hear Sansa take a deep breath as they arrived and dismounted. Arya just stared at Jon. He looked the same, but different at the same hair. His hair was longer, he had a beard, and he seemed much older and tired. He wore a look of exhaustion in his eyes, one that she remembered her father often wore. He smiled at Sansa, acknowledging her. He hadn’t seemed to notice Arya, who was blending in behind Sansa with other people.  
A young woman stood besides the woman Arya was assuming was Daenerys.  
“I present to you, The Mother of Dragons, The Breaker of Chains, The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, The Unburnt, and The Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, her highness, Daenerys Targaryen.”  
Sansa stepped forward, a small and icy smile on her face.  
“Welcome. I am Lady Sansa. Winterfell is yours, your Grace.”  
Arya huffed impatiently. This was boring, and she was tired of pretending to care about social manners. She stepped past Sansa, and threw herself at Jon, who didn’t even see her coming.  
“Who-” Jon staggered back in surprise as Arya wrapped her arms around him in a hug.  
“Arya!” Sansa groaned. “This is not appropriate.” Arya didn’t care. Jon felt too familiar, and with him here, Winterfell was finally feeling like home. Jon’s shock wore off and he pried her off him.  
“Arya?” He stared at her for a moment, before picking her up and hugging her more tightly then she had been.  
“Arya. I thought you were dead. Everyone said you were dead.” He whispered, his voice hoarse. “I can’t believe it's you. Sansa said you were alive, but I-.” He didn’t finish his sentence. Finally, he let her down. He was smiling now, and he looked more like the Jon she remembered. Arya grinned at him.  
“It’s been a while, Jon.” He ruffled the top of her hair.  
“It certainly has.” Arya sniffed, trying to keep her emotions in check.  
Sansa cleared her throat, looking at Arya and then staring pointedly at Daenerys. Arya couldn’t stop smiling. She turned to Daenerys.  
“Welcome to Winterfell, your Grace. I’m Arya Stark.”  
“Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell.” Sansa corrected her.  
“I’m not a lady Sansa.” Arya said, but she didn’t care what Sansa called her, not when Jon was here.  
“Pleased to meet you, Lady Arya.” Daenerys said, smiling a little more warmly at her then she had at Sansa.  
Behind them, Arya spotted a head above the rest, a head she couldn’t forget. The Hound. Her happiness at seeing Jon started slipping away. Old feelings, feelings of anger and hate started to bubble up inside her. Her fists clenched involuntarily. He was supposed to be dead.  
“Why is he here?” Arya scowled at Jon. “I thought he was dead.”  
“Who?”  
“The Hound. He’s a killer.”  
“So are you.” The Hound spoke to Arya in his familiar curt tone. “Are you going to take me off your little list finally?” Arya didn’t respond. There were too many feelings swirling around inside her right now, and even after all this time, she didn’t know how she wanted to handle the Hound. She could kill him, but she didn’t know if she wanted that. She had taken him off her list a long time ago, but now, faced with him again, she was considering putting him back on. Too many memories surrounded the Hound, bringing back stupid bullheaded boys who were probably dead and Joffrey and Micah and Robb and her mother and being faceless. She didn’t want to be here-she didn’t want to be Arya right now.  
Thinking of everyone she had lost so long ago was hurting her, a pain she wasn’t used to feeling. Arya wasn’t used to emotional pain, she had gotten rid of a long time ago. For the first time in a while, being Arya was making her sick. Physical pain was easy, it would go away. But this pain, thinking about her friends and family who had died or betrayed her or both couldn’t be healed so easily.  
She wanted to be no one again, to be someone besides this girl who had lost everyone for a long time. Arya turned away abruptly, her feet carrying her away from the Hound, away from the strange queen, away from Sansa, and away from Jon, whom she had been so excited to see.  
“Arya! Where are you going?” Sansa called to her, but Arya ignored her. She was finding it hard to breathe, and stopped for a moment to collect herself, only to bump into someone. About to snap at someone to get out of her way, she looked up to see a ghost.  
He was tall now. He had always been tall, but he was taller than Jon and almost as tall as the Hound it seemed. His long hair she remembered was gone, and he seemed bigger, muscles on him she didn’t remember. But his eyes were the same, piercing blue and staring down at her. Arya couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak. But he did.  
“M’lady.” He said it the same way he used to, when he’d tease her. He had a small smile on his face. “Jon said you were here and I-” Arya did the only thing she could at the moment, she kicked him. Hard. Then she punched him in the chest.  
“You! You stupid, bullheaded boy. You should be dead. You left-you left. You left me. You said you didn’t want to serve my brother, and your here. Serving my brother.” Arya was mad, she couldn’t breathe again. She hated Gendry, he was supposed to be dead, just like the Hound.  
“Hey! Ow, stop it. Arya!” Gendry tried to block her blows, but Arya didn’t want to be stop. Him leaving her was one of the worst moments she remembered, up there with her father’s execution and her brother’s.  
“Arya! Stop that!” People had started to notice their confrontation, and Jon was yelling at her. He walked over to her, and tried to stop her. Jon grabbed her arms, but Arya twisted away easily, barely phased. She was glaring at Gendry, who just stood there.  
“I assume you two know each other?” Sansa was by Jon suddenly, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. Gendry looked at Sansa, bowing.  
“My lady. We, uh, we were-”  
“He is just a stupid boy who doesn’t know anything and should be dead.” Arya spit out. “Why is he here Jon?”  
“He is Robert Baratheon's bastard, but his only true son. He helped me-”  
“Your a Baratheon?” This just made Arya angrier, if that was possible. “All this talk about how we couldn’t be family because I was highborn, and your a fucking Baratheon?”  
“I’m a bastard.” Gendry was speaking softly, trying to calm her down. That was making everything worse.  
“Don't’ talk to me like I’m some small child throwing a temper tantrum. You know as well as I do being a bastard means nothing.” She snapped, attempting to throw another punch at Gendry. He caught her fist, and pulled her to him in a hug. Arya struggled at first, half heartedly. He was hugging her, Gendry, the boy who was back from the dead. Tears she had been holding in since she saw Jon threatened to spill free. She sniffed, angrily, letting him hug her for the time being.  
“I’m sorry, Arya. I am.” He whispered to her, his voice soothing. She stayed there, in Gendry’s embrace for a moment longer, and then shoved him away, glaring at him again. Jon and Gendry and the Hound, too many reunions for one day. Too many conflicting thoughts she didn’t want to handle.  
Sansa was staring at her, a disapproving but interested look on her face, and Jon just looked confused.  
“Don’t follow me.” Arya said, unsure if she was talking to Jon or Sansa or Gendry. Then she took off in a run.


End file.
